Vicky Van Part 17

"I don't mean all the time, child. But I do feel sure that Vicky Van will come back there, and if you glance out now and then, you might see her go in or out."

"But it's dark," said Aunt Lucy, who was becoming interested, in spite of her scruples.

"I don't mean to-night, or any night. But in the daytime. She's likely to come, if at all, in broad daylight, I think."

"Aren't the police keeping guard on the house?" inquired my aunt.

"Only the regular patrolman. He pa.s.ses it every few hours, joggles the doork.n.o.b, and goes on. If Vicky is as clever as I think she is, she'll time that policeman, and sneak into the house between his rounds. It's only a chance, you know, but you might see her."

And then I told them all I knew myself of the whole affair. And seeing that I was deeply into the turmoil of it all, and had grave responsibilities, Aunt Lucy withdrew all objections and sympathized with me. Also, she was impressed with my important business connections with the Schuyler family, and was frankly curious about that aristocratic household. I was asked over and over again as to their mode of living, the furniture and appointments of the house, and the att.i.tudes of the widow and the sisters toward each other.

It was late in the evening before I remembered some important papers Mr. Bradbury had given me to hand to Mrs. Schuyler, and as soon as I thought of them I telephoned to know if I might then bring them over.

"Yes," came back Ruth Schuyler's soft voice. "I wish you would. I want to consult you about some other things also."

The interview was less trying than that of the morning had been.

Several matters of inheritance, insurance, and such things were discussed, and Mrs. Schuyler was more composed and calm.

She looked better, too, though this was doubtless due, in part, to the fact that she wore a white house dress which was far more becoming than black to her colorless face and light hair.

"I don't know," she said, at length, "whether what I want to say should be said to you or to the detective."

"Tell me first," I said, "and I may be able to advise you. In any case, it will be confidential."

"You are kind," she said, and her grateful eyes smiled appreciatively.

"It's this. I'd rather not have that--that Miss Van Allen traced, if it can be prevented in any way. I have a special reason for this, which I think I will tell you. It is, that, on thinking it over I have become convinced that my husband must have known the young woman, and the acquaintance was not to his credit. For some reason, I think, she must have forbidden him the house, and that is why he went there under an a.s.sumed name. Mr. Lowney succeeded in getting Mr. Steele on the long distance telephone--"

"Why, where is Steele?"

"In Chicago. Mr. Lowney says that he had to go there on the midnight train, and that is why he left the lady's house--Miss Van Allen's house, so suddenly."

"Really? Well, I am surprised. But, go on, what else did Steele say?"

"He said that Mr. Schuyler was with him at the club, and that he, Mr.

Steele, said he was going to Miss Van Allen's party and Mr. Schuyler begged him to take him along, and introduce him as Mr. Somers. It seems he had asked Mr. Steele before to do this, but this time he was more insistent. So Mr. Steele did it. Of course, Mr. Calhoun, I asked Mr. Lowney minutely about all this, because I want to know just what circ.u.mstances led up to my husband's going to that house."

"Of course, Mrs. Schuyler, you have every right to know. And did Steele say that was Mr. Schuyler's first visit there or merely his first visit as Mr. Somers?"

"Mr. Steele thought Mr. Schuyler had never been to the house before at all. But may he not have been mistaken? May not Mr. Schuyler have known the lady previously--oh, it is such a moil! But, in any case, Mr. Calhoun, it seems to me that further probing and searching will only pile up opprobrium on the name of Schuyler, and--I can't stand it. I am so unused to notoriety or publicity I can't face all the unpleasantness that must follow! Do help me to avoid it, won't you?"

"I certainly will, if I can. But I fear you ask the impossible, Mrs.

Schuyler. The law will not be stopped in its course by personal inclinations."

"No, I suppose not. What is it, Tibbetts?"

The last question was addressed to her maid, who appeared at the doorway. The sad-faced woman looked at her mistress with a mingled air of deference and commiseration.

"The telephone, ma'am," she said. "I said you were busily engaged, but it is some young woman who begs to speak to you a moment."

Mrs. Schuyler excused herself and left the room, and Tibbetts, smoothing down her trim white ap.r.o.n, followed.

"Another would-be secretary," my hostess said, as she returned. "I don't know how a report that I wanted one travelled so quickly, but I've had three offered since noon."

"Do the Schuyler ladies still object?"

"No; at least, they are willing. But I don't want any except a capable one. Not so much experienced, as quick-witted and intelligent. You may as well know, Mr. Calhoun, since you are to look after my affairs, that my late husband was of strictly plain habits. He was almost frugal in his ideas of how little womankind should be indulged in any luxuries or unnecessary comforts. This did not incommode his sisters for they were of the same mind. But I desired certain things which he saw fit to deny me. I make no complaint, I bear his memory no ill will, but I feel that now I may have some of these things. I am my own mistress, and while I have no wish to cast any reflection on Mr.

Schuyler's management of his own house, yet, it is now my house, and I must have the privilege of ordering it as I choose."

It had come already, then. Ruth Schuyler and her Puritanical sisters-in-law had met the issue, and Ruth had stood up for her rights. I felt that I knew the woman well enough to know she would not have taken this stand so soon after her husband's death except that some discussion or disagreement had made it necessary for her to a.s.sert herself. I bowed in acquiescence, and said, "I am sure, Mrs.

Schuyler, there can be no objection to your doing exactly as you please. This house is entirely your own, half Mr. Schuyler's fortune is yours, and you are responsible to n.o.body for your actions. If not intrusive, I will offer to look you up a suitable secretary. I have a young woman in mind, whom I think you would like."

"I am not easy to please," she said, smiling a little; "I have a very definite idea of what I want. Who is your friend?"

"Not a friend, exactly. An acquaintance of my sister's, who is eligible for the post, if she suits you. Shall I send her round to see you to-morrow?"

"Yes, please. Your mention of her is enough recommendation. I want, Mr. Calhoun, to do more or less charitable work this winter. That was another of Mr. Schuyler's whims, to attend to all charities himself, and to object to my giving anything personally. As I shall be quiet and unoccupied this winter, I plan to do some systematic work in a benevolent way. I know this sounds strange to you, that I should be planning these things so soon. But the truth is, I do plan them, purposely, because I don't want to think about the present horror. I need something to keep my mind from thinking of the awful tragedy or I shall go mad. It seemed to me not wrong to think about some work that should benefit others; and to do this, will give me an outlet for my energies and be helpful to the poor and suffering."

Ruth Schuyler looked almost beautiful as her face glowed with enthusiasm on her subject. I realized how the nervous, highstrung woman must be torn with agony at the revelations of her husband's defects and the uncertainty of his honor and morality, and all in addition to the terrible experiences she was undergoing and must yet encounter.

I went home filled with a desire to help her in every way I could, and though I went to my room at once, I could not think of sleep. I felt like planning ways to put the police off the track or finding some method of making them cease their hunt for Vicky Van.

I went down to the library, and sat down for a smoke and a revery. And I sat there until very late, after two o'clock, in fact, without getting any nearer a plan than I was at the start.

It was nearly three, when I concluded that I could sleep at last. I stood by the front window a moment, looking over at Vicky Van's house, across the street, and a few doors from our own.

As I looked at the darkened dwelling, I saw the front door slowly open. There was no one outside, it was being opened from inside. As I knew the body of Mr. Schuyler had been taken away, and the house had been deserted by all who had been there, and that it was in custody of the police, I looked curiously to see what would happen next.

Out of the door came a slight, small figure. It was, I felt positive, Vicky Van herself! I couldn't mistake that sleek, black head--she wore no hat--or those short, full skirts, that she always wore. She looked about cautiously, and then with swift motions she unlocked the letter-box that was beside her front door, took out several letters, relocked the box and slipped back into the house again!

Without stopping to think I opened my front door, and flew across the street. Mounting her steps, I rang the doorbell hard. There was no response, and I kept on ringing--a veritable bombardment. Then the door opened a very little bit--I could see it was on a night-chain--and Vicky's voice said, "Please go away."

"No, I won't," I said, "let me come in."

"I can't let you come in. Go away, _please._"

And then the door closed, in my very face, and though I pleaded, "Vicky, _do_ let me in!" there was no response.

CHAPTER IX

THE SOCIAL SECRETARY

I stood staring at the closed door. What did it mean? Why was Vicky in there and why wouldn't she let me come in?

Then, as I collected my wits, I laughed at myself. I knew why she was there--to get her mail. Doubtless there were important letters that she must have, and she had dared discovery to come at dead of night to get them. The patrolman was not in sight. She had looked out for this, of course. It was the merest chance that I had seen her, otherwise she would have escaped all observation. At three in the morning there are almost no people abroad in the quieter streets of the city, and Vicky had timed her visit well. Of course, she had her own keys, and I felt sure she had stealthily entered at the bas.e.m.e.nt door, and waited her time to secure the letters from the mail-box.